New Family

While I was at my mom's I had a chance to meet new family. My grandpa's half brother, Wayne (78-ish) and his new wife, Maxine, made a special two hour trip to come and see the babies. I was really taken aback by that - two hours to meet us? What a wonderful visit. They're two of the sweetest people ever. Uncle Wayne is a retired train engineer, a big man with white tussled hair, plaid shirt and red suspenders curving around his big, jolly belly (not too big, Uncle Wayne...). Aunt Maxine is a sweet woman with reddish hair and thin rimmed glasses. She has a smile that warms you up like a good cup of coffee, and a look of rapt attention when you talk, like she simply cannot imagine what wonderful, exciting thing you will say next. To be honest I was a little nervous to meet them, a little shy I guess, but within ten minutes it was just as mom said, "...like you've known them all your life...". I believe Uncle Wayne and I meet many years ago, once, but I wouldn't have known him if I'd fallen over him. What a neat couple. They were both widowed and found each other at their 50-year class reunion. They've been married 7 years now.

As we were all sitting in the living room I found myself doing something rather strange. I kept saying, "Uncle Wayne (blah blah blah)" or "Aunt Maxine (yadda yadda yadda)." It's like I couldn't help but refer to them using their family titles. I thought, I've only known these people for ten minutes. This is so strange! And I would catch myself looking at Uncle Wayne thinking, Part of this man's blood also runs in me, and in my children! We are family. It was profound for me because I come from a relatively small family. My dad's an only child, my mom's one of 3 girls but I only really knew my Aunt Esther, Uncle Laverne, and their two kids. Two cousins. That's all I related to growing up. But here, right before me was a lovely man with part of my DNA in him. And because he was so kind it made it all the better.

I have spent the vast majority of my twenties and thirties looking at the people in my family, carefully maneuvering around, and diagnosing the qualities that I would like or hate to acquire. I do believe that we're a product of our family lines, good or bad, sometimes both. But the best part is that I believe that God redeems the tragedy that runs in our blood. I'm referring to the generational sins, the habits and patterns that ruthlessly repeat themselves with each new family line. Because my family reads my blog I won't go into our particular saga, but I'm sure you can identify. The question is am I free, or getting free, of the ruts of my family line? Each generation has the chance to find liberation, a chance to re-write the future, and with God it is always an entirely new volume with a great new ending.

The kids and I are all fighting colds, allergies plus something else. Daddy is snot-free at the moment. Little boogers are a big problem when you're as old as Libby and your airway is the size of a pin, so I'll be on breathing duty tonight. Maybe someday, 20 years from now I'll get to sleep through the night again....

Re-entry

I was at my mom's for the last week - did you miss me? We loaded up the minivan after church and headed west, made it through customs without much trouble (twice) and pulled into my childhood driveway at about 7:30 that night. My folks were thrilled. My grandma was also pleased. She's 96, fading but still pleasant. She was enjoying Libby so much, having their little conversations, and then she'd look up and say, "Now you just need to have a boy." And then I'd remind her about Izak, and she'd say, "That's right...".

Traveling with two under two is a lot of work (let's hear it for the understatement of the week!). It was great to have Mom by my side, although with a fragile 96 year-old mother-in-law under her roof and a 36 year-old handicapped daughter, she had her hands full too. By the end of the day I wasn't worth much; hence the break in my blog.

A wise woman once told me that it takes as many days as you were gone to re-enter into your life once you get home. Today is day 5 and I feel like I'm beginning to see straight again. I have so much to share with you all, so stay tuned.

You're a stay at home mom when....

You know you're a stay at home mom (SAHM) when you don't know what the date is, you're not sure what day of the week it is, you don't wear a watch... but, without looking at a clock, you know EXACTLY what time it is.

Libby and Grandma, hand-made dedication gown 

Babies, brokenness, and sugar

Sunday I was in the fellowship mall at church, listening to an acquaintance of mine vent about troubles he's experiencing with his son and DIL and new grandbaby. My heart was really quite taken with his plight, and as a lull came in the conversation (one that feels like, "Okay, now I've told you all this... say something, please.") I said, "Babies bring out our brokenness." Of course I was choking back tears, I think he'd already cried most of his. And later I thought, now where did that come from??!?

But I think there's some truth in it. Life is balanced, polished, under control... then along comes a baby and it throws everything off kilter. And the dark parts of a person that were carefully governed are now hanging out. For me I think I struggled with the sudden lack of control, inability to make it better for all parties (Dad, Izzy, Libby) all the time, another unknown future to worry about. And that brokenness is only ministered to, really ministered to by the hand of God. He alone is totally aware of my image management, the parts of me that are (at a minimum) not very pastor's wife-like, the thoughts that cut and curse, the words that do not flow out of the better places of my spirit, the selfishness that lashes out. So chalk it up to sleep deprivation, hormones, noise level, whatever... I really think that for a period of time babies bring out brokenness. The question then is what to do with it...

On the lighter side, Wednesday night was my night on the town. Well, not really the town, but I did get to escape to rehearse with the band. :) I have this little ritual that I do on my way to rehearsal. Since I can't have caffeine or chocolate (Thank you, Libby) I stop and get a roll of Shockers, this wicked tart candy, and I eat the whole roll. Makes me drool just to think about it. Anyway, last night I bought myself two rolls! By the end of the night I definitely had a left-over sugar high going on! Matt said I was talking rather loudly! Hahahaha! Mmmmm, sugar good.

Libby at two months, having a grand time 

Cathedral singing

Saturday I had the opportunity to solo for a catholic wedding at a catherdral in downtown Buffalo. St. Louis' RC Church is the oldest catholic church in Buffalo, est. in the 1800's. They've recently spent a boatload of money to rennovate it, and it is breathtaking. (I almost wrote breast-taking ~ you can tell I'm a nursing mom! LOL) There is NO carpet in the place, so you can imagine what the acoustics were like... LIVE is an understatement! I was accompanied by the humongous pipe organ. Amazing. I was able to harken back to my classical side, using overtones and straighter sounds to really bounce the notes around. All of the years I had of french horn training and college chorale really taught me how to find the center of a tone, which was a definite plus when I was going for the purest, cleanest sound I could pull off. It was sooooo much fun!

People are very kind when I sing at church. One man said, "When you sing it's like the heavens opened up and the angels came down." Singing in that vast, grand space on Saturday, perched up in the choir loft out of sight beside the massive pipes, and listening to the echo of pure, pure tones... can I be honest? For once I actually felt like an angel singing.

Izak Matthew, Super Toddler! 

You're the mother of a toddler when...

You know you're the mother of a toddler when you have chili on the back of your t-shirt, spaghetti in your hair, and you didn't even have the pleasure of eating it yourself.

A tiny house

Well, we're recovering from my sister and bro-in-law's visit. Izzy was out-of-his-little-mind excited to have them here! He was jazzed every single minute to have a new audience to play to. Visitors add a bit of extra mass to our little home since it's a small, adorable Civil War era cottage. We have two little bedrooms, one little bathroom, and a total of three little closets (b/c who needs closets during the Civil War? You only have two dresses!). We never thought we'd have kids when we bought our house. Boy, talk about growing pains. Liberty naps in our room during the day, and sleeps in the sunroom in a PackNPlay during the night; she's still a little too fussy at times to expect them to sleep together yet. But I feel that time coming, perhaps with a little more intrepidation since there's really no other choice long-term. Our cottage was originally built by the sleigh maker here in Water Valley. It also served as a temporary one-room school house when the other had been burned down and was being rebuilt. Our hardwood floors are made from the trees on the land. We enjoy a beautiful 2-acre backyard that has picture perfect sunsets in the summer. You can see two chimneys on the roof ~ one to our current fireplace, and the other that went to the fireplace that used to be in the kitchen (b/c that's where and how you cook your meals pre-appliances...). The detached garage was still set up as the stable that it was when we bought it. Matt took down the stalls so we could attempt to park in it; I might be successful with the minivan if it weren't for those stinkin' mirrors! There are apple trees, wild tart cherry trees, and a pear tree. I love my home and it's historic past... but it's feeling so small. Having a small home makes you evaluate everything you bring home. It prevents you from being too much of a pack rat, it keeps the volume of toys, appliances, groceries to a minimum. In short, it keeps things more simple for me by controlling the amount of stuff that invades my life. Doesn't mean I don't want more stuff... it just makes it impossible for me to indulge that desire.

Two sick kids

Talk about exhausting. My kids are sick simultaneously. Monday night Izak cried out, Matt went to check on him and I heard him sneeze... 4 times in a row. This, despite the fact that he had his daily Zestryl dose on board. And I knew immediately he was getting sick. Tuesday he was a bleary eyed, congested, Booger King. I started the familiar regime of Cold and Allergy elixir in each bottle, on top of the Zestryl, and 24 hours later I could tell we were winning! He was sick, but it wouldn't go to his ears. Then Thursday Libby started sneezing, and I thought, "Uh oh." I also feel punky, right side of my head is all clogged up, but since I'm breastfeeding I can't take a thing. Especially a decongestant b/c that will dry up the breastmilk. Last night Lib started to run a lo-grade temp. Dr. Rob said it was ok to give Tylenol and itty-bitty doses of cold and allergy around the clock. She was all ready for bed at 7p, Izak had retired at 6:30p because he napped poorly with the cold, only 2 hours, so Matt and I went out on a date. Our friend Laura stayed at the house. When we got home at 9:45p Libby had just finished up another 4 ounces of formula, pooped for the 3rd time that day, and was fussing in her crib. No temp, but all jittery from the meds. A temp of 101 or greater in a baby less than 3 months old means they have to go to the ER where the battery of tests included a spinal tap, IV, lab draws, and mandatory admission. So I need to remember that no temp is about the best we can do here.

I slept with her in bed (Dad on the couch), had her propped up on a wedge, and ran the humidifier. It felt like the Amazon, but she did okay once she got down. Woke to feed at 4:30a, struggled to get back to sleep, and then went until 9:15a. Today, less boogers, but she's only napping an hour at a time. Nursing every two hours. It's brutal. And Big Brother blew his nap again due to coughing. It's too hot here to be out so we've been playing in a little tent that I set up in the living room. We're all bored and counting the minutes until Daddy comes home!!!!Let's just say I'm beat from not having any downtime. And tomorrow I get to go to work and then do worship team in the evening and early Sunday morning. Kill me now...

My little sister and her husband are coming up from PA to stay a long weekend with us.

Today my thoughts are often of the hostage situation in Russia. It makes me really sick.

Breast Cancer

My girlfriend had a mastectomy today for breast CA. She's 35. I can't imagine being told that the pain you felt (and reported) for over a year, the mass that you felt on the underside of your breast was CA. The day she told me I was dropping off some fresh herbs from my garden (because who has the time to cook with fresh basil when you're chasing a toodler and a newborn?!?!). And she said, "I have some bad news. I have breast cancer." You could have knocked me over with a feather. Since I work at a cancer institute I was an instant team member in her new battle. I spoke with the docs, relayed information about intractable nausea, history, etc, called my co-workers in the recovery room and gave them a heads up. And I prayed. For what, I'm not exactly sure, but I thought about, and prayed about her for weeks.

I was praying for her in the middle of last night when I was breastfeeding, asking God for any amount of miracle that He would see fit to pass her way. I've thought several times about the special people I've known with CA. It dawned on me that I haven't known any of them before their diagnosis, only after, so the experiences, the changes and failing that I went through with them was not unexpected. This woman has only been healthy since I've known her ~ what would happen if I were to have to go through the deep waters with her? What if she was terminal? How would I feel about my calling then? I believe that I'm called to work with the dying and the suffering, but there's a safety in it when you minister to the one in the bed in the ICU, not an established friend on the outside who was blind-sided by CA. And for the first time in a long time, I felt my limits and I was afraid.

I ran up to see her once I thought she'd be out of surgery. She was in her room; I was her first visitor. She looked fantastic. She felt good ~ and her lymph nodes were negative! When she said that I threw my hand over my mouth and cried! All I could think was,"Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you." And then she grinned and said, "Hey, we can do Tamoxifen, right? No problem." And I was thinking, Friend, if radiation and chemo are all we have to go through, then you're right. No problem!

Us 

My Husband

I remember the summer I became "okay" with the idea that I may never marry. I'd dated a few guys, pretty much losers on a spectrum of bad to worse. I was usually hurt when we broke up, but deep within I knew it was better than the alternative ~ staying with a loser. My mom has this great saying ~ "There's only one thing worse than being alone for the rest of your life..." and then she looks at you. Yes, the one thing worse is being with the wrong guy. I was convinced that God didn't have anyone out there who could complete me. And that summer I was okay with that.

Then I went back to college for my junior year, and this great guy (a man I'd admired from a distance for a long time) became a really good friend of mine under very natural circumstances. We spent many, many evenings playing racquetball and talking, joking, sharing... and gosh, he was really cute... but I was ok being single. It wasn't working though, all my self-talk. I really was nuts about him, but in a very healthy sort of way, and if anything, I really loved our friendship. Then came the night he asked me to go for a walk on a frosty Indiana November evening. I thought, "Uh-oh. Here it comes. He's either going to tell me he's gay, or he wants to date my little sister (who was quite popular on campus). The ol' 'sister in Christ' bit." But he wow-ed me when he, very diplomatically of course, asked if a woman like me would consider dating a guy like him. Those were almost his exact words. So careful. I responded by tucking my mouth down into my winter jacket so he couldn't see my expression. I was grinning from ear to ear thinking, "I've got him! I've really got him!" But the reality was, he had me. And to this day he still does.

I decided when I married that I would be my husband's biggest fan--that I would defend and protect our relationship with fierceness and passion. Not because he's mine to control or "have," but because he is the most precious of possessions to me. And I decided I would adore him, not in a PollyAnna sort of way , one that winks at weakness and panders to insecurities, but in a way that believes and communicates, "You are a great man. God has created you for big things, and I am privileged to be your helper." Marriage to Matt isn't full of rainbows and butterflies; we do have those moments. But when you're walking in the presence of a man with whom you know God speaks and leads, you are secure. I may not know what the details of tomorrow are, but I am confident in my husband's love. I may not know the plan for our life, but I am steadied because the captain of the ship is a great man of faith and skill. One of the best parts about Matt is that he's constantly working to improve our marriage. I tell him what I need, and I get it. I need more presents. *poof* I need more foot rubs. *poof* I need more of your attention at home. *poof* He is always willing to grow. Having a husband like him fortifies me and allows me to become that which God is calling me to. And when God speaks to the Church in His Word in terms of marriage,and being her Husband, I am able to think, "Yes, our God must be like my Matthew."

Husband, I love you deeply. You are a fantastic friend, father, and lover. I rejoice as the one that God chose to complete you.

I always enjoyed having you around.

My mom was visiting a while ago. She was having a good time watching Izak chase me and the vacuum around the house. He was flipping the switch off every time he got within reach. I would have to stop, and pretend groan "Oh no! Please turn it on again!" to which he would laugh, flip it on, let me sweep another 2 feet and turn it off again. On and off, on and off, for as long as it took me to collect the Newfoundland's hair balls from the nooks and crannies. Mom was laughing as she looked on, and then she said one of the most powerful things I've ever heard her say about her parenting experience,

"I always enjoyed having you girls around when you were little."

Really, Mom? Always? You had those years of fun and frustration, but still, you enjoyed us? Not a day has gone by that I don't think about that phrase... I always enjoyed having you around. Those words are a blessing to me. They now give me permission to relax and revel in this funny little times with my two under 2. The times when both Libby and Izak are crying, and I don't have enough arms to comfort them and I'm about to burst into tears too, I hear, "I always enjoyed having you around...". When Izak insists on blowing bubbles for 45 minutes straight, or obsessing about the neighbor's wheelbarrow turned upside down on his wood pile, exposing the precious, inviting wheel ~ look how it keeps going around and around! And when we're reading the book for the sixth time in a row, like he's never heard it before... something whispers "I always enjoyed having you around." At 4 a.m. when I'm nursing Liberty, half-asleep and she looks up and grins, or better yet, when she would cry from 1-3 a.m., sweaty from the pain of colic, down deep inside me I could feel the soothing words... "I always enjoyed you." When Izak cleans out my kitchen cupboards and drawers onto the floor, when I'm wiping ravioli off the window, when Libby fills her cloth diaper with poop, when I touch their skin and smell their hair, and change over the clothes because they've outgrown the last batch... "I always enjoyed having you around."

In the Old Testament fathers would often lay hands on the head of their oldest son and give them a blessing regarding their future. That sunny day in my living room I might as well have been kneeling before you, Mom, as you said those words because they have so profoundly enriched this destiny that God has called me to. I love you. Thank you.

You're a mom when...

You're a mom when you're at the county fair, surrounded by barns with hundreds upon hundreds of cows, pigs, chickens, rabbits, ducks, horses, goats, sheep, dirty hay --

And you can smell your son's poopy diaper.

Recouping

Well, we're one week after the family's big visit for Libby's dedication. Saturday my mom, dad, and sister surprised me when they just showed up at the house!!! I was floored. Dad had made a snap decision on Thursday to try to make the trip, mom jumped into action to set up care for Grandma (96 years old and not a very good traveler), and they made it!! It was a blast to have my folks there too. I was completely unprepared for 7 visitors, let alone 10, but Dad dashed off to the grocery store the minute he got here and all was well.

We FEASTED for two days straight. Meals were bursting with choices ~ grilled chicken marinated in the local sauce of choice, Chiavetta's, burgers, fresh corn on the cob, hot dogs, munchies, fresh fruit from Michigan, homemade poppyseed cake (from scratch, an Old Country recipe from my gram), and lots of kosher pickles. I had an awesome time helping to serve my family and my family-in-law. It always surprises me how nicely our two families fit together. In one sense, it's like they've know each other a long, long time, longer than the 12 years matt and I have been together. Matt's dad was in the area of special education, and Matt's sister, Sarah, is a special ed. teacher, so they are all confortable with Stephanie. Matt's step-dad, Birt, was a music minister and I think that could've been my dad's second calling in life. The Bennetts are musical to the core. Both moms are RNs. Suzy has a flair for entertaining so effortlessly, and it seems like that's all we did while I was growing up ~ entertain tons of people. Even with the similarities, I think that the shared foundation of Christ and His work in our lives is the biggest common denominator. All of us know God personally, even the cousins, so we are , in essence, all brothers and sisters of the larger spiritual family.

Saturday and Sunday I was back on worship team, helping lead our 2000 member congregation in music. What a blast to stand up front and hear their voices blend in song. I am always blessed to look into the faces of the hundreds of folks, whose stories I've come to know and love, and watch them sing with all their might. Yes, this is their testimony! And see the hands lift up, especially when there's a particularly poignant line that has been a part of their specific journey. It's a gift. And while I'm leading I, too, am striving to communicate that these songs are my testimony as well, not just empty words. Each time I lead or solo, I take the time to meditate on, and own each song I sing. I believe that if you can't bear witness to the things you're singing, you shouldn't sing. That doesn't mean that if you're struggling with surrender, or contentment, or belief that you can't lead. But transparency and integrity means that you are wrestling to reconcile the words with your life. When I knew that God was calling me to have children, it was the act of owning the worship songs that said, "I give my whole life to you...I will follow you... I surrender.." that kept the proverbial thumb in my back to work towards whole-hearted obedience. And the peace that I had, especially while I was leading worship pregnant with Izak, I will never forget.

"What can I say, here in Your presence? I am undone, here in Your presence. You are God, I am Yours."

Incoming!

Michigan family is on the way!!! My bro- and sis-in-law, their 3 boys, and Matt's parents are making the trek to see the youngest cousin. We're going to have a great time! This weekend we are dedicating Liberty to God. She will be 8 weeks and 5 days old. She will wear the ecru dedication gown, hat, and booties that my mom crocheted as an heirloom for our family. (I still have to sew the rosettes back on - they were removed for big brother). The service (and this was all Matt's idea) will be officiated by all women. They will speak, pray, and read scripture about godly womanhood. Best of all, they are living examples of outstanding women that I want Liberty to know and love. When my reflection of God is innaccurate or wharped, may she find the truth about being a daughter of the King in the women I keep in my inner circle. And may she be protected from the ones I keep in the outer circle.

I am trying to prepare myself for the sensory overload of visitors. It doesn't take much, especially when you're 1) an introvert and 2) sleep-deprived. I live life with a great deal of censorship and that requires a bit of margin. I think carefully about responses and try to monitor myself a majority of the time. It doesn't mean I'm disingenuine, just calculated. There are very few people with whom I can lift off the screen and let myself be unplugged. There's a time and a place for that, primarily with my small group ~ the Musielaks and the Gobles ~ and a few other friends. There is a balance between censorship and being totally candid. People exercising the extremes of both should, in my opinion, be avoided. But for me, I trend towards censorship. Probably out of a need for control, or image management. Something vain like that. But I'm also reminded of a saying that hung on my RD's refrigerator that inferred that the better you know someone, the greater care and courtesy you should extend to them. Now I'm not saying that shooting from the hip brings with it rudeness or meanness, but it can unintentionally if you're not careful. Which then brings you back to censorship. Lol. I'm too tired to talk about stuff like this with any coherence.

So Libby will be dedicated on Sunday, and that afternoon we will have cake. I'm planning on 30-40 people, and for once it looks like we may be able to have the party outside in the sun!

I'm running out of cogent thoughts. Two of my friends have been diagnosed with cancer in the last two weeks. More on that another time, I'm sure.

Morning walks

I used to look forward to my morning walks with Izak. It was a great way to blow an hour or so while waiting for his afternoon nap to roll around, I could get some fresh air, Sailor could get rid of some of her energy and keep her nails filed down. But then Libby came and has made it abundantly clear that she does not like morning walks! First she starts by grumbling in the car seat. When I put her pacifier in she sucks on it with an angry look (the scowl she has is all Matt!), her little fists clenched. So I pull a blanket over her to block out the light (and make me forget that I'm at fault for dragging this poor kid out of her nap for an overstimulating walk). Meanwhile, Izak has decided that yes, he should kick the foot rest of the stroller with great force, bouncing the whole set-up with a steady rhythm. Under the cover the grumbling increases to a howl. Then Izak eggs her on by imitating the cry, bumping the volume up a notch. Then I turn around on my route and head home, foiled, discouraged, and accompanied by the waaaaaa-mbulance of crying children. So much for my morning walks.

It's better if I just stay at home and make sure Libby gets a good nap, or four good naps, in a nice quiet, dark room. Actually, this is a cornerstone of my philosophy to encourage healthy sleep. Be home for naptime(s). Have naps happen in the familiar environment of a room and crib with minimal noise. Strive for early bedtimes with bedrock routines. Do not push for a later bedtime in hopes that the baby will sleep in later (because you will more than likely get an earlier wake-up). All of my sleep beliefs have been formed by the book Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child by Dr. Marc. Weissbluth. Fantastic research, right on the money as far as his findings for the various age groups. MW sites our mentality of needing to be "on the go" as a major culprit in raising sleep deprived, crabby, inattentive kids. The whole notion of "if he's tired he'll sleep" is something I avoid at all costs. In my particular situation, to push the kids to play along with my perceived need to be on the go would be selfish. I do not have to be anywhere or go anywhere that is paramount to their needs for a good nap. I am delighted to take care of well-rested babies. I am tortured when I've had to care for stressed-out, crabby babies. If I have to go somewhere then I try to schedule it during naptime and arrange for a babysitter. I know that I'm a frustration to my friends who were hoping for another playmate when I became a SAHM. I refuse to push my kids to play when I know they should be sleeping, and as MW puts it, "sleep begets sleep". The more rested a child is, the more he'll be able to rest.

I was beginning to see more of people and accomplish more daytime errands when Izak dropped his morning nap around 14 months of age. It really was fun, going and doing more. But now Liberty has reminded me that babies need to sleep (almost around the clock), and my main job for now is to protect that need ~ even if it means no more morning walks.

So amidst the daily awareness that I may grow chubby, sluggish and low-toned, I am reminded that the nature of motherhood is bittersweet sacrifice.

Work

Well, Monday was my first day back to Roswell and I loved it!!! Matt had a great day with the kids, he even managed to get showered before I came home (which is more than I've accomplished today). I had a wonderful time. I actually floated to recovery room (PACU), a place where I am gaining expertise and comfort. Now I'm trying to figure out how to get more partial shifts in, mainly in PACU because they can use me for 3, 4, 5, or 6 hours at a crack, and I don't need to be there at the beginning or end of a "shift." The nature of recovery is transient, in one door, out the other, so you don't have to cover a patient for 8 hours. So I'm praying and thinking about who to entrust the kids to, just for a few hours, until Matt can come home and take over. The goal being not to spend the money I'm earning on child care. God bless Matt for even attempting to work with me... the man has a crazy schedule and he does a great job balancing it all.

Work makes me feel powerful, competent, valuable. I like work, but it can be like a drug if I'm not careful. Too much is bad. I found myself looking forward to when Libby is in school so I can pick up more time, and then I felt guilty for wishing this time away... . When I got home Monday and my little girl curled nuzzled into me with her tiny hand touching my chest I thought, "This, this is the most important job." Sometimes it's hard to sort out the immediacy of everything, everything feels urgent. Making more money, getting Libby to learn to sleep without crying, getting Izak to eat food, or at least reject food without flinging it across the room, making more money, getting my ACLS certification, dating my husband (without the 3rd wheel) again-- and the list goes on. I am certain that I am meant to be a SAHM first and foremost. This job is actually what allows the rest of my life to be in balance right now. But, oh, I love work...

I laid Izak down for his nap today and he was having a big ol' party in there! Screeching, laughing, jabbering ~ I could hear things being throw out of the crib, a bottle bouncing off the dresser. All of this is sometimes normal but it seemed much more raucous today. Usually he quiets down and sleeps, but 45 minutes later he's still going strong. As I walked by his doorway to check on Libby, I happened to glance at the bottom of his door. I could see light coming out of his room! And when I opened his door I found that I'd left the light on when I closed him in. Note: Toddlers do not nap well when the light is as bright as day.